


Artistic Licence

by MadAndy



Category: Helloween (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-05-24 00:51:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6135764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadAndy/pseuds/MadAndy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Well, if you said one of us would do it and I am not doing it, and you are not doing it--"</p><p>"And Markus is not doing it," came the firm voice from the other side of the room.</p><p>"Neither is Sascha," he added, folding his arms across his chest and glaring at Andi.</p><p>The four men stared at each other across the practice room, all four minds busily ticking away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Artistic Licence

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Although this tale features characters that share an awful lot of characteristics with the individuals who go to make up the featured rock band, it isn't them. I'm fully aware of that fact; they're completely their own people, and this is a fantasy based on their stage personas, interviews and other material in the public domain. No malice or impeachment is intended to the band, their families, friends, management companies or anyone else involved with them in any way, shape or form. No money is being made from this tale, it's written purely for the enjoyment of the author...and her readers. 
> 
> It's fiction. Enjoy it as such.
> 
> (Written in 2006)

“Oh, come on. You say my stuff’s good...”

“Steph,” said the tall woman, lighting a cigarette and flipping her hair out of her eyes, “it _is_ good. But do you have any idea how many young, eager photographers I get in here, every week, wanting me to display their work?”

“Lots, I know. But you yourself have said my work is different! And it’s not like I’m some kid fresh out of college, you know.”

Steph was bouncing on the balls of her feet, glaring at her friend as she tried to persuade her to take her seriously, for once. It wasn’t as if she was asking that her work be displayed in the sodding Tate gallery, was it? No, just Hanna’s own little gallery here in Buckingham, in the wilds of the English countryside. Hanna’s side project to keep her busy after her main galleries in New York, Boston and LA made her enough money to seek out a decidedly slower pace of life, showcasing English talent in this most English of small county towns.

The fact that the place was getting a reputation for showcasing fresh new work and had launched a couple of careers didn’t hurt.

Hanna leaned back in her chair, crossing her ankles and tipping her head to regard her friend with a cool gaze.

“Let’s say I gave you an exhibition. There’s your portraiture. Your gig work. That’s half of it. Now, what are you going to offer me to catch my attention? What’s the _other_ half?”

Stephanie dropped into the chair opposite her friend and banged her head on the desk. “I don’t know!” she wailed, lifting her forehead to beat a rapid tattoo on the glossy mahogany.

Hanna tapped the desk, then pushed her pack of cigarettes toward Steph’s head.

“I doubt that very much,” she said, as Steph lit one and flopped back in her chair to huff smoke rings toward the ceiling. “So come on. What is it?”

“I’d never get anyone to do it.”

“Do what?”

Steph explained about her idea, watching her friend’s face for the derision she was sure would follow.

The older woman thought about it for a moment, then directed a wry smile at her friend. “I think,” she said, in the West Virginia drawl she’d worked hard to keep as part of her image, “that you could indeed get someone to do it - if you asked the right someone, of course.”

“That’s my point. I have no idea where to start.”

Hanna leaned forward and drummed sharp, perfectly manicured fingernails on the gleaming surface of the desk.

“I still have a few contacts in the business. Let me make some phone calls.”

“You’re kidding...”

“What can I say? I like the idea. I’ll give you a call in a couple of days - now, scoot, and let me work my magic.”

~*~

“Well, I am not doing it.”

“You don’t have to,” explained Andi patiently. “I’m not doing it either,” he added, tipping his head and shooting a wry smile at his friend. Weiki snorted.

“Your ass is too big anyway.”

Andi laughed and ruffled Michael’s hair. “Good thing too. Ah, Markus,” he grinned, making the bassist eye him suspiciously, “a friend of mine has called and asked one of us for a favour.”

“I’m listening,” Markus replied, turning away to tune his bass. Andi explained what had been requested; by the time he was finished Markus was staring at him, bass forgotten, eyes wide in utter astonishment.

“You are kidding,” he said. Andi grinned around his cigarette and all but batted his eyelashes.

“Nope. Is what she’d like one of us to do.”

“No way. No. Not ever. NO!”

“You would look good,” grinned Weiki. 

“I am not doing it. You need someone young and pretty, so send Sascha.”

The man in question had just entered the practice room, laptop clutched under one arm. He eyed Markus suspiciously.

“Send Sascha where?”

Andi explained again, sending Weiki into fits of laughter at Sascha’s expression when he realised just what was being asked.

“No! No, no, no. Absolutely not.”

“Well, somebody has to do it.”

“Why?” asked Sascha, still eyeing his fellow guitarist with deep suspicion.

“Because I said one of us would.”

“Andi!”

“What? I think it’s a good project.”

“Then you do it!”

“His ass is too big,” grinned Weiki, making Sascha blink and look.

“True.”

“Well, if you said one of us would do it and I am not doing it, and you are not doing it--”

“And Markus is not doing it,” came the firm voice from the other side of the room.

“Neither is Sascha,” he added, folding his arms across his chest and glaring at Andi.

The four men stared at each other across the practice room, all four minds busily ticking away. 

Dani could not have possibly picked a worse moment to arrive for practice if he’d tried. All four of his band mates turned to him with wide grins; Andi flung his arms wide and greeted him with a cheerful shout. Dani froze, wondering if he could run - but it was too late. Far, far too late to escape.

“Dani!”

~*~

“Hey Steph.”

“Hanna!”

“I got you one. They’re touring the UK next month and they’ve got a couple of weeks off at the end of it - you’ll only need him for a day, won’t you?”

“Sure. A morning, if everything goes right.”

“I’ll get their tour manager to fax you with details.”

“I can’t believe you got one of them to agree....”

“Don’t let me down, kid. I’ve pulled in a million favours for this.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

“Good.”

~*~

Dani shuffled out from behind the screen, taking a moment to peer around the studio. Nobody else there.

He relaxed a bit.

Some part of him had still been wondering if this was all some elaborate practical joke, that his band mates might suddenly leap out and yell ‘surprise!’ when he was at the point of no return - but it was whisper quiet in the airy room, and Steph was bent over her camera, muttering.

Looked safe enough.

She glanced up at him with a smile as he sidled up to her, clutching the towel around his waist in a death grip. Cocking her head - and determinedly not looking below his waist - she indicated where she wanted him to sit, following him over to make sure he positioned himself correctly for the camera.

She eyed the towel, and with a sigh he unwrapped it and handed it over. She nodded, tossed it over her shoulder and began to explain what she wanted, all business. He listened, still somewhat unable to believe he’d ever agreed to this; she was explaining about light and shadow, what she wanted to catch with the camera and did he think he could do it?

Well, the box she had him sitting on was draped with some sort of throw made of soft, short fur - real or not he wasn’t sure, certainly didn’t care and was absolutely not about to ask - and the feel of that tickling his balls was making his cock twitch already. And having the photographer clad in a crop top that hid nothing at all and a little pair of lycra cycling shorts helped, too. She noted the direction of his gaze, and blushed.

“Well, I had to make sure it was warm in here - figured if you were cold you wouldn’t be able to...you know. And when I’m working I get hot, so this is the best outfit for me to stay comfortable…” her voice trailed off when he grinned at her, rolling her eyes and spending a moment adjusting the long, loose fall of his hair over his shoulders just the way she wanted it.

“OK. Ready?”

Dani - now stark naked on the fur covered box and surrounded by the dark draperies she had arranged to create a suitable background for each picture - shifted a little and gave her a pleading look.

“So you just want me to...?”

“If you would.”

He sighed, and looked away. Steph leaned on the camera tripod and watched him, not without sympathy. She’d heard the story of how he’d been conned into coming here today; send the new guy, is what it had boiled down to. Which, by all accounts, happened to him a lot. Whether it was finding out how rabid a gang of fans was, or going out to grab coffee in the pouring rain it always came down to that - send the new guy.

Dani wondered miserably how long it would take him to stop being the new guy.

“Look mate,” she said quietly, the sympathy showing in her voice, “if you don’t think you can do it, that’s cool. I understand.”

His eyes were filled with hope when he lifted them to her face, but then the expression fell as he thought about it a bit more.

“But if I don’t do it--”

“I don’t get my exhibition. And that’s my big chance gone bang - probably permanently. Hanna’s my friend, but she’s a tough lady - if I blow this then,” she shrugged, looking away and biting her lip, brow creased in a worried frown, “I’d better go back to just doing weddings, because I’ll never get taken seriously again. This could be my big break, Dani. I need this.”

She sighed, watching him from the corner of her eye. Yes, she could understand his nervousness. But she had a job to do here, an idea whose time had come; she wasn’t above a tiny bit of manipulation to get her own way. She sighed a little, pinched the bridge of her nose in what she hoped looked like despair.

“It’s OK, Dani. Look, get dressed....I…I’m sure I’ll think of something else. Eventually.”

The little catch in the voice was genius. 

And it worked. He got a determined look on his face and said no, he would do his best. She summoned up a weak little smile and thanked him, asking if he needed anything to help get him started, so to speak. He thought about this for a second, then shook his head.

“Good. I’ll lower the lights and we’ll get started, shall we? I will be using flash, but it should be diffuse enough not to startle you too badly. Just...do what comes naturally, so to speak.”

“You’re staying over there?”

“To start with. Then I’ll probably prowl around with another camera - if that’s OK with you?”

Dani sighed. He had nothing to lose at this point, so where would be the advantage of complaining? He might as well just get on with it, and hope like fuck that he didn’t suddenly begin to suffer from performance anxiety.

~*~

There was no doubt about it, thought Steph as she watched him through the viewfinder. He was bloody gorgeous. 

Not too tall, long, strong legs, lean in the ribcage and muscular across the shoulders. The swirl of his tattoo added depth to the shot, and she focused on that; click, and the first was taken.

He jumped, flinched.

Just her luck to get a shy one.

“Relax, mate. Just…do your thing.”

He sighed, and started again. Oh, now that was nice. Long slow squeezes up the shaft, other hand cupping his balls and rolling them over his fingers, pausing to give them a gentle squeeze. 

The shoulders dropped, Dani forgetting about the watcher, the lights, the camera; he focused on the feeling of his hands on himself, stroking and squeezing and pressing in all the right places.

He rearranged himself on the box, letting his head fall back as he spread his legs a little further. More flashes, but he could care less right now; he felt the muscles of his thighs bunch and relax as he shifted his hips, forcing his rapidly hardening cock through his fingers. Course, this would be better if-

He half opened his eyes, hoping like hell he wouldn’t see a crowd of hooting musicians. Nope, just the photographer, kneeling on the floor a little distance away with her camera in front of her face.

“Lube?” he asked her, giving her a lazy smile as he looked straight into the lens. Maybe this could be fun after all.

She cursed under her breath, trotted off out of his eyeshot and returned, breathing hard. He winked at her when she passed him the little tube, and she blushed; he unscrewed the cap, letting his eyes take a languid tour across her body.

Nice tits, rather small but high and firm. No bra. Lean body, legs nothing to write home about but nicely proportioned. Bare feet.

“Ready to go again?” she asked, and he tilted his head to look up at her, leaning back on one arm and stroking his - now lubed - hardon.

“Ja,” he said, and wriggled his eyebrows at her.

She squeaked something that was probably ‘ok’, and rushed back to her camera. He grinned when he saw her take a couple of deep breaths and rub her palms on her thighs; seemed it was getting to her, then. Time to give her a show.

Deepening his own breathing he began to stroke himself in earnest. Rolling the hood of his foreskin up and back, small groaned sigh of pleasure. Wriggle his bare butt on the fur beneath him, arch his back, flick his hair over his shoulder, out of his eyes. Keep the breathing slow and steady, pace yourself, make it last.

The quiet padding of her feet around him let him know where she was, and he focused on what it would be like to have those hands on him, cupping his balls, running one of those capable, blunt fingernails up the underside of his shaft….

Steph was having the most difficult time of her life concentrating on getting the shots she wanted. She’d known it was going to be hard - pardon the pun - getting the sort of atmospheric images she was after with a very hot guy wanking away in her studio, but she’d been unprepared for the sheer rawness of the experience. The faint smell of him, sweat and sex and lube, the sounds of his breathing; the way he arched his back and whispered half formed words, the glossy auburn fall of his waist length hair swinging in counterpoint to the steady movement of his body.

Dropping to her knees she concentrated on his hip, taking the line of his leg and watching with fascination the way the muscles bunched and relaxed, toes curling into the fake fur of the throw she’d borrowed for the shoot.

Flash, and the way his flank heaved with his rapid breathing was tucked away on film. She hoped she’d caught the little droplet of sweat running along his ribs - the one she wanted nothing more than to lean forward and lick off.

He was beginning to wriggle and shake, his whole body trembling with the intensity of the experience. She angled the camera to look up at his face, lower lip caught between his teeth as he panted, long lashes lying dark against the paleness of his cheek. You’d be able to see the flush even in black and white, she thought, shuffling forward on her knees to get another angle, looking up along his chest.

She was close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body, kneeling between his feet; if he came now there was a good chance he’d get the camera. 

She didn’t care, wriggling around to get different angles of that strong-jawed face, the slide of light across sweat-damp skin. Shiver in the muscles, flex and twist of his hand and wrist and how that reflected in his shoulders, waves and ripples of effort gliding under his skin, effortless, beautiful in the muted half light of the studio.

The strength in his arms was clear from the way the flash rolled over the straining muscle and sinew, his back twisting and arching in elegant support of his striving shoulders. The flat of his shoulderblades appeared for one brief moment, caught on camera as he twisted and writhed to a new position.

Panting now, and the hairs on the back of her neck began to stand up; she could smell him, feel the heat radiating from his body. He was working hard, his body curving and swaying to the rhythm of his hand on his cock. He shuffled forward, took his balls in the palm of his hand and groaned, a sound torn from the depths of his broad chest.

He curled forward, hissing through his teeth. His hair - that beautiful auburn fall of relaxed waves - swept across his shoulders, hiding his face, shaking with the trembling tension of his body.

And then he snapped, throwing his head back and crying out, a choked wail catching in his throat, lips skinned back over his teeth. His fist tightened, and he lifted his hips to pump his cock through the constriction of his fingers; one hand on the throw, fingers curled deep into the dark, soft pile he lifted, twisted to one side, every muscle alive and caught in the moment.

One thrust, buttocks clenching, another, and a gasp as stark white strings of semen slashed across the darkness of the backdrop. He pumped his hips, gasped with the wrenching effort, then fell back to sit on the box, squeezing the last dribble of come from the head. He let his head hang back as he stroked, smoothing the softness of the delicate skin, soothing his nerve endings after the shattering orgasm.

One shot she’d never forget; both hands propped behind him, head hanging back to expose his sweat-streaked throat, working as he swallowed and panted. Abdominal muscles shaking, streaks of come clinging to the damp elegance of his chest, legs spread wide and relaxed; his cock beginning to soften, as perfect in form and heat as the rest of his body.

He sighed, rolling himself forward to prop his elbows on his knees, watching her through the curtain of his hair. Strands clung to the wet skin of his back, scribbling nonsense patterns against the fair background that swirled and weaved in time with his breathing.

Steph finally lowered the camera, and tried to smile; she had no idea what the expression was she achieved, but he snorted with amusement and shook his head.

“That was OK for you?”

She had to clear her throat three times before she could speak.

“Wonderful. Just what I… needed.”

~*~

The opening night of Steph’s exhibition was a great success. Critics and journalists alike praised her work, making appreciative noises over her composition and eye for action, drama; pictures of rock bands doing what they did best, all sweat and adrenaline, setting the stage alight for the fans. Candid shots of the crowd, capturing emotion on faces and the swirl of the moshpit. Individual faces picked from the seething mass, unguarded expressions of delight, raw emotion shining through the sweat and transferred perfectly to film.

But the last section was where she was earning most praise, and she grinned and blushed at the fulsome praise. Such artistic judgement. Such daring….

Sascha stared at one print, the raised shoulder and arched neck clearly those of his bandmate, and raised an eyebrow.

“You can tell what you’re doing,” he said with a smirk.

Dani blushed and ducked his head. He’d been doing a lot of that this evening; Hanna had somehow persuaded the whole band to attend the opening of the exhibition, and he was beginning to wish he’d stayed in the hotel.

“Although you cannot see his cock,” observed Weiki dryly.

“Thank goodness,” snickered Markus, nudging Dani in the ribs with his elbow. “Maybe she kept those for her private collection.”

“Who, me?” said a cheerful voice, and the men turned from their contemplation of the pictures - and the teasing of their friend - to greet the photographer herself.

“Yes you,” sighed Dani, getting a hug and a peck on the cheek.

“As if,” she laughed, hoping that none of them could read minds. That collection was very private indeed, and she wanted to keep it that way.

“Anyway,” she added brightly, “who’s going to be next, then?”

They all stared at her in horror, except for Dani. He was too busy grinning all over his face.

“Next?”

“Yes. Your vocalist - Andi, is it? - was talking to Hanna, and he’s so impressed with the quality of the shots he’d like me to do a series of you all…naked, of course. I think it would work rather well, don’t you?” she asked innocently, fluttering her eyelashes at Sascha.

She found herself alone with Dani, the other three having dashed off to browbeat Andi about making decisions without their permission. Markus had gone white, and Sascha had said something very rude indeed in German. Weiki had simply shaken his head, and wandered off to find somewhere he would be allowed to smoke.

“Well, that got rid of them,” she said with a grin, linking her arm through Dani’s. “Now, what say you take me to this little restaurant I know and buy me dinner?”

He tilted his head, and smiled. “Oh yes? And then what?”

“Then,” she murmured, steering him toward the exit while an argument raged fiercely behind them, “maybe you get to take some pictures of me…”

~~Fine~~


End file.
